


Killers

by cherrybarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1980s, Abuse, Blood Kink, Brief Mentions Of Rape, Corruption, Derogatory Language, Dominance, Horror, Kinky sex, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Murder, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Rough Sex, Serial Killers, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-08-28 23:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrybarnes/pseuds/cherrybarnes
Summary: (1980's)As soon as James saw Steve, James knew he had to have him. What he didn't know was if he should kill him or corrupt him.





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

> This book will contain graphic deaths, murder, and horror. There will be eventual smut and here's a fair warning - it won't be vanilla. This book contains bloodlust, slight d/s, rough sex, and a whole lot of death. This book isn't really for those who want a fun, easy read. If you ARE willing to stick around then I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> One last thing: I am not, and will never, romanticize this plotline. I am in no way condoning the actions of or victimizing Steve or Bucky. This is all just fiction! Thank you (-:
> 
> \- Mandi

Steve adjusted the glasses that were sliding down his nose as he squinted through the dark. His radio that was once playing some old Beatles song was now static as he ventured deeper into the woods. The twenty-three-year-old mumbled curse words under his breath in frustration, wishing he had never listened to Sam's advice. He then scoffed at himself, realizing how silly that thought was. Sam would've badgered him about it until he convinced him anyway. "Fuckin' Sam." He grumbled as he struggled through the dark trees.

Eventually, he turned off the radio, the static giving him a headache. The dark unknown in the trees mixed with the eerie silence all around him felt suffocating. With the radio off, Steve was able to hear the soft rumbling of his engine. "Oh God," he mutters, hoping the problem wasn't a big one and could be dealt with in the morning.

He kept on driving, praying to whatever god listening that he'd arrive at his best friends' house without too much struggle. Unfortunately, though, his prayers fell on deaf ears.

The engine started rumbling even more, the car began to shake violently beneath him. steve gripped the steering wheel, feeling his knuckles turn white. "No, no, no, no, FUCK! You piece of shit! Don't do this to me - baby please," Steve began patting the steering wheel softly. "Honey, we've had five great years together. You've been with me through so much - please,"

The car began releasing smoke from under the hood, causing Steve to groan in frustration. "Goddamnit!" He unbuckled his seat belt and grabbed a flashlight from his backseat before he slid out of the car. "Fucking car!" he shouted, kicking the tire in anger.

He shivered slightly at the cool autumn wind, pulling his jacket tighter around him. He pulled a map from his pocket, shining his flashlight at it. 'if my car broke down here then I should be at nat and Sam's in... six miles? unless i-'

His train of thought is interrupted sudden rustling behind him. He turned quickly towards the sound, shining his light. Steve gulped harshly, terrified. "Fucking Sam," he mumbled.

He studied the woods around him, looking for the source of the sound. "Just... acorns. Just acorns. Nothin' to be afraid of, Steve." he said softly to himself, frankly terrified.

The young man started trekking through the woods, hearing the fall leaves crunch under his feet. 'Well,' he figured. 'if I'm gonna be moving out here then maybe it's good I get used to these woods anyway.' Sure maybe this circumstance wasn't ideal but it'd be a funny story to tell in a few years. He knew Natasha will get a kick out of it after scolding him for not getting his car checked like she'd been telling him to.

He walked for hours it seems, having no sense of time. He left his belongings that he's moving to his new house, including his watch, in his car. He had planned on asking Sam to drive him and pick it up the following morning.

He walked, kept walking, then walked some more. His feet were killing him, he was dehydrated and he was shivering. The cold, although not too bitter at first, became nearly unbearable as he walked through the wind for hours. Had it been hours? Steve has no idea.

He came up to a house.

It's dark, almost swallowed up by the night around it. Steve gulped harshly, feeling wary about walking up the driveway. It's not very large, a simple one-story house. It's scarce of any decorations that make it look homey in any sense. It's just a simple one level wooden house. Steve nibbled his lip, weighing the pros and cons.

'If I don't die in that house, I'm gonna die of hypothermia,'

He sighed and began walking up the dark driveway. He contemplated turning on the flashlight to make himself less scared but he didn't want to bring attention to himself right now. What if the person thinks he's some drunk teenager? Or some asshole cop? Steve cursed sam once more in his mind.

Eventually, he made it up to the door, walking up the creaky porch. The wood whined under his dirty sneakers. Here goes nothing.

He raised his hand and knocked three times before taking a step back. He mentally braced himself for whatever he would be met with.

What he saw took him by surprise.

A handsome man that stood taller than Steve by at least two feet opened the door. He had brown hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a charming smile.

"Well, you seem a bit lost."

Steve swallowed harshly, offering out his hand. " I'm Steven Rogers. My car broke down a few miles that way," he chucked a thumb behind him. "I was wondering if I could borrow your phone to call my buddy? He can pick me up... if that's not too much of a problem?"

The shorter boy bit his lip, feeling bashful. The taller man stared down at him with this look in his eyes that Steve couldn't quite place.

"Of course. It's cold out, anyway. I wouldn't want someone like you to catch a cold," the brown-eyed man moved out of the way of the entrance, waving an arm as if to welcome Steve into the house.

Steve bit his lip once more wondering what this man meant by 'someone like you'. Nevertheless, he walked inside. "So what's your name, sir?"

The homeowner, having his back turned to Steve, let out a silent groan at the title. "James. James Barnes."

James turned to face the smaller man, phone in hand. "I believe you asked for this,"

Steve walked towards James, smiling with gratitude as he took the receiver from the man's hand. "Thank you,"

James led Steve to a chair next to the phone by putting his hand Steve's lower back. "Pleasure's all mine," he smirked before turning on his foot and walking towards an entrance way. "I'll be down the hall. Call for me whenever you're done,"

Steve gazed at the man as he walked away. What has he gotten himself into?


	2. Steve

“I don’t know what to tell ya, Steve,” Sam sighed, genuinely feeling sorry. “ I can’t pick you up until the morning. Nat and I moved out here only two days ago and I still don’t know the forest well enough, especially at night, to go and find you at God knows where. I don’t want to risk ending up in a place like you with a less friendly house owner,”

Steve winced at that, leaning his head against the wall. Even though America had come a long way from thirty years ago, there was still the risk of sam stumbling across a house that belonged to someone less-than-kind just because of his skin color.

“I understand, Sam. I’m sure I can make it back to my car from here... I have my blankets in there still. I’ll figure it out,” he tried to make Sam feel a little less bad about the situation. “Don’t tell nat,” he decided, knowing she’d riot and demand she drive to find steve herself. He didn’t want to risk her getting lost and feeling the weight of the blame on his shoulders.

Sam sighed from the other line and Steve could practically feel his frown from James’ house. “Don’t worry about it, Sammy. I’ll be okay for the night,”

“Why don’t you ask the house owner to stay for the night? Didn’t you say Jack or Jasper or-“

“James,” Steve said sharply.

“James. Why don’t you ask James to stay the night? If he’s as nice as you say then maybe he won’t mind lending you the couch for the night,” Sam suggested.

“Absolutely not, Sam. I’m not gonna ask a random stranger if I can sleep on his couch. I’m lucky enough he’s letting me use his phone!”

Sam stayed quiet for a few seconds. “You can’t see me but I’m rolling my eyes at you,” Steve grumbled under his breath. “Just ask him. Speaking of - is he cute? You never gave me the details. maybe you and him can find a way to warm up in another way,”

“Sam! Don’t be crude.” Steve felt a blush grow on his cheeks at his friend’s words.

“It’s past the 60s, Steve. Sexual liberation,”

Steve shot a look behind him at the door cracked open making sure James wasn’t in hearing range.

“I mean yeah, he’s really really handsome. His eyes, Sam! My god, you should see them... and he’s so tall too, he towers over me,”

His friend snorts. “Everyone towers over you Steve, you’re 4’9,”

Steve pouts, glad his friend wasn’t here to see it. “5’4,” he mumbled.

“Besides the point. My original statement still stands. You should fuck him tonight,”

“I am NOT going to fuck anyone tonight,” Steve said a little louder than he should’ve.

James clears his throat from behind him, holding a tray of tea. The color drains from Steve’s already pale face. “James... hi,”

He heard Sam's laugh on the line but it seemed so far away. All he can hear pay attention to is the fact that James is here, clearly showered if his wet hair was any indication, and he had heard what he said. about fucking someone. About fucking him. He mentally curses sam in his mind once more before picking up the receiver and putting it to his ear again.

“Goodbye, Sam. I’ll see you tomorrow,”

He set the receiver back down where it belonged before turning to face James. He still stood with the tea, this time with a charming smile on his face.

“I should’ve knocked, I’m sorry.... tea?” he gestured towards the tray in his hand back to the couch sitting in front of the fireplace.

“I’d love some... thank you,” Steve slowly walked towards the couch, enjoying the feeling of warmth from the fire. Steve absentmindedly hummed when James excused himself for a moment to his room. Steve grabbed a cup from the tray, filling it with tea before dropping in a few sugar cubes. As he drank he studied the room around him, taking in the dark wood from the table and floors and deep red curtains. The entire scene looked like something from a bad 50s vampire horror film.

As Steve drank he felt himself grow more and more sleepy. The lights began to look bleary, his eyes growing droopy. How long had James been gone? It felt like hours. Steve felt like he should be panicking but he wasn’t. He wasn’t worried about the fact that he really needed to start walking back to his car before the temperature dropped even more than it already has. He wasn’t worried about the fact that he was still at a stranger’s house, nearly going to pass out on his couch. Everything in his mind screamed at him to get up and get his shit together.

Just as he felt he was gonna slip under, James walked back into the room, holding something under his arm. Steve squinted at whatever James had, trying to make out the object in the dark.

“Here are some pajamas, Steve. Did you mention something about Sam not being able to pick you up until the morning? I can show you the shower and then you can sleep in these,” James pulled steve gently by his arm, leading him through the dark halls.

“I’s jussgonna walk back to th’car...”

James chuckled as he pushed open the bathroom door. “No way in hell, buddy. Shower and then I’ll show you the bed you can sleep on.”

Steve wasn’t one to miss out on not having to walk five miles back to his unheated car where he’d have to sleep for the entire night. Especially not in a cold, scary, dark forest.

He walked into the bathroom and began to unbuckle his belt. He proceeded to push down his pants - and his underwear - halfway down his thighs swiftly. “Woah, easy there. Let me leave the room first, fella,” James said, but not before sneaking a once over at Steve's body. He left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Steve stepped into the shower before turning on the faucet. He struggled to see through his sleepy eyes as he washed the dirt and sweat off his body.

He stepped out before ten minutes could even pass, wrapping his body in a towel that was laid out for him. ‘Weird’ he thought. He didn’t even hear James come in.

Steve slipped on the pajama bottoms that were far too big on him. He then threw on the shirt that, he had discovered, was also oversized. ‘I hate being tiny,’ he thought to himself before deciding to forego the pants entirely.

He opened up the door and slipped out of it before calling out: “James?”

The man appeared behind Steve without him hearing a single step. “All done?” James held back a groan as he took in the sight of the shorter man. He had damp hair, messy from being towel dried, and James’ shirt adorned on him. It fell down to his mid-thigh. Fuck.

Steve smiled up at him. “Yep! I’m ready for bed.”

James could feel his pupils dilate at the way Steve phrased his statement. “Okay, Stevie. Let me show you the way,”

Steve didn't know where the nickname 'Stevie' came from but he certainly liked it.

The taller man smirked as he guided the pliant man with a hand on his lower back.


	3. James

James took in the sight of Steve laying unconscious on his bed. He gazed at the blond boy as he slept. Brown eyes focus zeroed in on Steve’s naked thigh peaking out from the blanket.

It would be so easy to just-

No. James may have been a stone cold killer and lack morals but he would never stoop that low. He was ashamed of himself for even considering it. 

As soon as James saw Steve, he knew he had to have him. What he didn’t know was if he should kill him or corrupt him. But then, when James saw all of his beauty draped over the bed with the moonlight hitting him just right, James knew immediately that he made up his mind. 

He quietly shut the door behind him before he laid on top of his own bed, conjuring up a plan. 

The next morning James arose out of bed before the sun kissed the ground. He threw a pan on the stove and began making eggs, bacon and pancakes. He prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that Steve wasn’t a waffle kind of guy. 

Just then, he heard the room to his guest room shut softly and the quiet pitter patter of Steve’s bare feet in his hardwood floor. Speaking of the Devil. 

James continued making the food knowing Steve’s hunger would drive him to the correct location. Seconds later he saw Steve standing in the doorway with messy hair and his own shirt adoring the man’s small body. “Hi,” Steve said softly. “Thank you for letting me crash here last night. I didn’t even realize I had gotten so exhausted,” 

James suppressed his smirk, knowing Steve’s sudden exhaustion wasn’t Steve’s fault at all. Well maybe some of it could be blamed on the long adventure he had before he made it to James’ house. However, it was mostly the heavy dose of melatonin James crushed up and put in the tea he gave to all of the victims. Well, most of the time they were victims. Sometimes James decided to have mercy if his almost victim mentioned having a family or someone who really needed them more than James needed a fix of adrenaline. That was a rarity though. 

“It’s quite alright - don’t worry about it. I’m making something to eat right now so you can make yourself comfortable at the table. It should be done in a minute,” James nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen table. 

“Thank you, James. I appreciate your hospitality. There aren’t a lot of people as sweet as you are,” Steve sent a small smile at the killer before taking a seat. 

James finished making the two of them plates before he set them at the table. His eyes widened at the sight of what was happening in front of him.

James had forgotten to put the blade he had used a few days prior away like an idiot. Thank God he washed the blood off of it already. How could he have been so careless? If his stupidity wasn’t enough of a surprise for the man then the fact that Steve was twirling the knife in his fingers like some goddamn pro certainly threw him in for a loop. James had to look away before he got a hard on like some teenage boy. 

His eyes swept over the rest of the kitchen for any signs of his last murder. Thankfully there wasn’t anything else questionable out in the open. “Holy fuck. Is this a Case XX Kodiak Hunter knife?” Steve’s eyes were wild and childlike as he ran his fingertip slowly over the blade. 

James felt dumbfounded. “How’d you know?” Steve didn’t exactly look like the type to be a knife enthusiast. Then again, James has been told he doesn’t look like the killing type either. 

“I have a collection,” Steve smiled proudly up at James where he was standing. Fuck. He really had to stop looking up at James like some dirty schoolboy while twirling that goddamn knife in his hand before James lost control. “I have an Old Timer 8OT Senior Stockman, a Victorinox Classic SD Swiss Knife, a KA-BAR USMC Utility, and a Buck Model 110 Folding knife,” 

“You have a Buck Model?” James eyes widened slightly in excitement. 

“Yep. Not a replica either. My grandfather gave it to me before he join the war. It’s my most prized possession,” 

“I’ve been looking for a Buck Model for seven years. It’s the knife I want the most. Somebody I used to know had one and let me use it every now and again. Ever since I stopped talking to them, I realized I liked the knife more than the person,” James took a seat in front of Steve and leaned forward. 

“You’re a funny guy... Bucky,”

James’ eyebrows drew together. “Bucky?”

“Yeah! You like the Buck Model. Bucky. I like it,” And hell, with Steve’s eyes sparkling in the morning sun and excitement, James decided he liked the name too. 

“I like it, _Stevie_ ,”

“And I like you, _Bucky_.”

The two smiled at each other across the table, Steve still playing absentmindedly with the knife. Suddenly, the blond hissed slightly and looked down. The knife had slid against his finger, causing blood to pool at the cut. The incident gathered both of their attention before they looked up at each other’s eyes one again. Steve wasn’t panicking in pain much to James’ confusion. In fact the only reaction Steve did have was sudden dilation of his pupils. 

James was pretty sure Steve was going to kill him. Which, all things considered, James figured would be pretty poetic. 

Steve slowly raised his finger to his mouth and began sucking the bit of blood from his wound. James’ eyes darkened enough for Steve to notice. James’ eyes stayed on Steve’s lips around his pointer finger. Steve stuck his tongue out and licked, at that point he was just putting on a show. James loved every minute of it. 

Very carefully he grabbed Steve’s wrist in his hand and guided his finger, still bleeding pretty badly, to his mouth. Steve’s breath hitched in his throat. James sucked hard. Steve moaned unexpectedly causing James to smirk. He took his middle finger into his mouth alongside his pointer finger. “James,” Steve breathed out lustfully. 

James pulled Steve by the wrist he held in his hand and connected their blood ridden lips together in a frenzy. Steve moaned at the contact. 

James licked the remaining blood from Steve’s lips before pulling back. He willed his heartbeat to slow down before saying:

“Your food is getting cold. Once you finish I can show you the rest of my collection,”

And, well, Steve wasn’t going to say no to that.


	4. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have a look into Steve’s past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be mindful of the updated tags!

Steve stared at the black drink in Bucky's mug in disgust. “How’s that coffee? I didn’t realize people liked chewing grounds in their mouth,”

James looked confused for a moment before swallowing the coffee in his mouth. “Ha, ha. I happen to enjoy things bitter,”

The shorter man raised his eyebrow, pouring some more sugar into his coffee mug. “Really? I pegged you as a sweet type of guy,” Steve said absentmindedly, not paying attention to the double meaning his words could have. James was quick on his feet. He was able to charm anyone's pants off of them, no questions asked. In fact, that's how he lured in most of his victims. A charming smile here, some gentlemen-like act there, and he had fellas and dames at his door in a minute. 

"Oh, don't let me be misunderstood. I happen to enjoy things so sweet I could get a cavity," James let his hand fall on Steve's thigh. He leaned into his ear to whisper: "But that's usually after the coffee, darling."

Steve felt a small blush crawl down his cheeks and neck. Bucky had to hide his smile. _‘My God, I want to ruin him,'_ Buckyhadn't stumbled by a man like Steve in a long, long time. 

“Tell me about yourself, Stevie. Your childhood, your dreams, and aspirations, your journey. I want to know about you,”

The blond played with his mug in his hand for a little, thinking about what to say. How much should he disclose? He hardly knew the man. He didn't want to spill too much and have the handsome man running for the hills after deciding he was too much to deal with. He watched as the coffee swished around with his movement. James could feel the hesitance radiating from Steve's body in waves. If only he knew James had a few skeletons in his closet. Well, more than a few. Maybe thirty... or forty? He stopped counting after fifteen. "Stevie, you don't have to tell me anything you don't wish to. Trust me, though, when I tell you I've witnessed worse. I'm not here to judge you,  I just want to get to know you before we go any further in... whatever this is." James offered a small smile at the boy.

In that moment, Steve was absolutely positive he would do anything Bucky asked so long as he smiled at Steve like that. 

Steve worried his bottom lip with his teeth before turning his body towards Bucky. “Well...”

_Steve made himself as small as he possibly could, covering his ears. The bed sheet around him was wet with sweat and tears that were still making their way down the boy's cheeks. He pulled the comforter into his mouth, trying his hardest to muffle his sobs. Last time his father heard him crying for his mother, he turned his rage upon Steve instead. Usually, he'd prefer it that way, but that was the night his mother cried the hardest after his father finally left to yet another bar. He could still hear his mother's cries from their living room but he didn't know if they were from pain or if she was begging for him to put down the bottle. Sometimes when nights got real bad, he closed his eyes and pretended they were only arguing. No punches, or scratches, or slaps. Just yelling, as normal families do. Tonight was one of those nights. Sarah, his mother, was beginning to quiet down. Steve couldn't tell whether that meant the pain was slowly decreasing or if the pain was so bad, she learned not to cry for help anymore. Usually, all her cries and screams did was make his father angrier thus more violent._

_Steve's father, Joseph, was a hard-ass. He hadn't wanted kids, really, but his marriage was falling apart. As most irrational adults do, he and Sarah thought throwing a child in the mix would help save them. Bring back what they had in the beginning. After Steve was born, Sarah fell in love. Not with Joseph, but with Steven and being a mother. Sarah started more of her attention towards her young son instead of feeding into Joseph constantly as she had been previously. Joseph hated this. He became angry so he drank. Then he got even angrier towards everything when he was drunk so he drank some more. It was a vicious cycle._

_Steve recalled the first time Joseph ever hit him. He was twelve years old and had just walked in the door from being at school. When he strolled into his room, he found all of his belongings thrown around his room with his father sitting on his unmade bed with a magazine in his hand. Not any magazine - Steve's porn magazine. Steve's_ gay  _porn magazine. "Sit down, Steve." His voice was deep and unnerving. Steve had never heard his father's voice sound so... void. So empty. When he sat down on his bed, he could smell the vodka on his father's breath. Steve was shaking at this point. He'd seen what numbers his father did to his mother. It wasn't pretty. "Yes, fathe-" A crack could be heard throughout the room, Joseph's fist colliding with Steve's jaw. Steve clutched his face, angling his body away from Joseph. He didn't want him to see the tears silently flowing down his cheeks. "I didn't raise a faggot." Joseph spat out at the boy. Steve would later find out that Joseph was looking around his room to find money for more booze._

 _The abuse didn't stop there. After that day, Joseph found any excuse to beat the poor boy. He didn't fold his laundry? He was out "too late"? He_ looked  _at him a certain way? Joseph put all of his anger and frustrations into Sarah and Steven. He spent all of their money on his late night drunk endeavors. The two of them learned to survive. They depended on each other like they were each other's oxygen. There were some days Steve just couldn't handle the bruises on his body, as small as he was, and he contemplated life without life. The only reason he never acted on those thoughts were his mother. Sarah was his rock and he was her roll._

Steve hadn't realized he was crying until he felt James' fingers wipe away his tears. He couldn't stop shaking. James took the mug out of his hand softly and placed it on the table so he didn't accidentally spill anything on himself. James pulled Steve into his arms with care, hugging the boy tightly. This, however, wasn't just some ploy like he usually did with some of his victims. He genuinely just didn't want to see Steve in agony. "That's not all," Steve choked out into James' shirt where his face was buried. He composed himself, wanting to get this story out of the way so he didn't have to deal with this later. Truthfully, he needed to let this out. He hadn't told anyone the story he was about to tell James - not even Sam and Nat, and they were his closest friends. Honestly, Steve didn't know why he trusted Bucky with all of this information. It made no sense but there was something in James' eyes that was so comforting. Like he could confess to murder and James would just pull him into a hug. Steve pulled away with puffy eyes and a red nose, taking a deep breath. 

_Steve watched in absolute terror as his Joseph held his mother down by her throat. He surged forward all ninety pounds of himself, already bloodied and beaten, on his father to try and knock him down. Joseph hardly moved an inch from Steve's attack before he threw a powerful punch right at Steven's temple. The seventeen-year-old dropped like a pile of bricks, knocked out from the force. The last thought on his mind was 'This is my fault.'_

_It was his idea to bring the abuse up to the police. After years and years of being fed up, he finally devised a ploy to get his father locked up. The cop ended up being a crooked bastard, though, a friend of Joseph's from one of the many bars he went to. Joseph was let off scot-free and was more pissed than ever._

_When Steve finally regained consciousness, he suddenly wished he had just died on the floor he lay on. He made eye contact with his mother as his father put an increasing amount of pressure on her throat. He tried to move but he was so weak from the beating he already took. Did he have a concussion? It felt like a concussion. None of that mattered, though, when he heard his mother's choked outcries and begs. Steve couldn't look away from the scene no matter how much he wanted to. He was stuck in a trance. He kept his eyes trained on her until the life slipped away from her eyes and her body sagged on the couch he had her on. Steve didn't cry. He just sat and watched._

_He watched as his mother's lifeless body laid there. He watched as Joseph suddenly started breaking down, repeating a mantra of "What have I done?"'s. He watched as his father grabbed his shotgun and ended his own fate. To that day, Steve didn't know why he watched and didn't do anything. He just watched._

James didn't know what to make of this story. Was this good or bad news for him? He couldn't quite tell yet. He studied Steve's face, watching the boy study the table in front of him. His eyes were still slightly puffy but he didn't look like he was going to cry again. Almost as if he were more upset over the abuse than the actual killing itself. James tilted his head, still eyeing up the man. Interesting. "Do you think I'm disgusting?" Steve broke the silence, his voice cracking. 

"No, Stevie. I think you're damaged."

Steve thought over his words for a second. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Maybe. But I think we have that in common anyway. We're gonna make a perfect pair, Steve."

And, for the first time since he sat down at the couch with Bucky, Steve smiled. 

 


End file.
